Justice
by LeaO'Neill
Summary: A slippery drug lord causes trouble for the team


The characters of The Shield do not belong to me. They are property of Shawn Ryan and FX.  
  
JUSTICE  
  
Detective Shane Vendrell sat at the bar of the small neighborhood beer and pretzel joint. The day had been long and rough. He'd spent more time with his gun in his hand then in it's holster. The Strike Team had been hitting the streets hard, knocking on doors, or rather kicking them in, looking for a dealer that had been eluding them for a good two months. Word on the street was, they'd messed up his operation so bad, he was furious with Vic and the rest of the team, but he could do nothing about it. But neither could they get their hands on him.  
  
Shane had been shot at, punched and generally worked over the last few days. Which was nothing new for him. But he really needed a beer. Which he was thoroughly enjoying, along with a smoke, right this moment. He wasn't looking for anything more than a break. He wanted to drink cold beer, let tobacco pollute his body and listen to the old Black Crowe's song playing in the bar. And absolutely nothing else.  
  
Until a woman took the stool next to him. Shane glanced over. She was certainly a beauty: thick, wavy light brown hair, high cheek bones, full lips, large, pert breasts with just the right amount of cleavage showing, and stunning green eyes. Shane looked away.  
  
"Tequila sunrise," she ordered from the bartender.  
  
She had a nice voice. Shane had to make an effort to keep his eyes on the ashtray in front of him. He finished his beer and gestured to the bartender for another.  
  
The bar keep brought both drinks at the same time and set them down n front of the two patrons.  
  
Shane laid down a twenty as the woman fished in her purse.  
  
"I got it," Shane said, nonchalantly as the bartender took his money.  
  
The woman looked up, surprised. "You didn't have'ta do that," she said, looking at him for the first time. Shane thought he caught a trace of a slightly Southern accent.  
  
Shane shrugged. "No problem."  
  
She still had her eyes trained on him. "Thanks." She finally turned back to her drink.  
  
Shane watched out of the corner of his eye as she delicately traced the rim of the glass with a well-manicured pink painted fingernail.  
  
"My name's Gina," she finally said after a long silence.  
  
He turned slightly. "Shane."  
  
"Nice to meet you Shane. And the next round's on me."  
  
He nodded. "Deal."  
  
Again, another long silence, in which they both sipped their drinks. When Shane's Bud was getting low, Gina motioned the bartender to bring him another, in which she kept her word and paid for.  
  
"Thanks," Shane said, tipping back the fresh, cold beer. "You're not having another?"  
  
She shook her head. "I haven't eaten. I just stopped in after work to kind of relax."  
  
Shane nodded. "Amen to that."  
  
"Excuse me for a minute," she said with a smile and left the barstool for the ladies' room. Shane took a long, ample glace at her posterior as she went. She sure did fill out the jeans she wore very well.  
  
The few minutes she was gone gave Shane a chance to think. He'd decided what the hell, he'd ask her to dinner when she got back. Hell, he might even get some.  
  
Gina returned and flashed him a gorgeous smile. She had about finished her drink.  
  
"Hey, if you're not busy.look, you haven't eaten, neither have I. If you're solo for the evening, why don't we get outta here and go grab some dinner?"  
  
Gina looked like she was debating the offer. "Well.I guess it would be nice to have some company instead of eating a frozen dinner in front of the TV."  
  
Shane hardly believed that she did that often.  
  
"There's a great rib and barbeque joint just a couple of blocks over," he suggested.  
  
She smiled again, almost loosing Shane in the pools of her emerald eyes. "Sounds good."  
  
They both left the bar stools.  
  
Walking out of the bar, Gina took hold of Shane's arm, as if they were a couple, rather than strangers.  
  
"I usually don't go to dinner with strange men."  
  
Shane shrugged. "I'm not that strange. Once you get to know me," he said with a grin.  
  
They opted to walk the block to the restaurant and Shane happily let the gorgeous woman squire herself on his arm the whole way.  
  
"What do you do Shane?" she finally asked the inevitable question.  
  
"I'm a cop," he said. Best get it out of the way.  
  
"Really? Wow."  
  
And that was it. Shane had expected more. It was decidedly welcome when it didn't come.  
  
"What about you?"  
  
"I'm a legal secretary."  
  
"Law firm?"  
  
She nodded.  
  
"You're not from here though are you?" he asked.  
  
She shook her head, her hair bouncing and casting a hint of Jasmine scent Shane's way. "I'm from Alabama originally. Been here about four years now."  
  
"I'm a Georgia boy myself," Shane stated proudly.  
  
Gina smiled broadly. "Well, I knew there was a reason we hit it of so good. Us Southerners have'ta stick together."  
  
They ate at the modest barbeque place, both thoroughly enjoying both the good food and the company. They washed down the food with more beer. Their conversation never ran dry, though it didn't touch on their jobs, which was fine with Shane. He'd had enough of his job for a while.  
  
It was past nine when they finally excused themselves from the restaurant, Shane also picking up the tab for dinner. Gina protested, but in genuine Southern form, didn't do it very well.  
  
They strolled leisurely back towards the bar where both their vehicles were parked.  
  
"I can't believe what a good time I've had," Gina said, as they neared Shane's truck; her Honda was parked just across.  
  
"Me too. Maybe we could do it again some time."  
  
Gina looked up at him, those eyes again drawing him in. She put her hands on his strong biceps. "I.I don't usually do this, but, well, maybe it doesn't have to end yet?" she whispered questioningly.  
  
Shane quietly congratulated himself. Hook, line and sinker.  
  
Gina leaned forward and Shane took her cue, pulling her in for a deep kiss. There was no denying the sparks that shot between them as their bodies and lips met.  
  
After long moments, they broke, both a little breathless.  
  
"I'd like to take you home," he said.  
  
***************************************************  
  
Detective Curtis Lemanski's evening was taking a much different turn. He too was drained and dragging by the long hours and hard work the Strike Team had been putting in. He knew the dealer, Antwon Jones, that they were putting down, was still out there and there was still work to be done. But right here and now, Lem didn't care. The only thing on his mind was a good meal. He was starving. Lunch hadn't even been an option, as he and Vic had been interrogating one of Jones's goons which led to a new possible location on Jones. The team had then suited up and hit the apartment building where Jones was supposed to be. Another dead end. It had left a lot of pent up adrenaline rushing through Lem's six foot one, two hundred ten-pound physique.  
  
So after work, when they'd finally called it quits for the day, Lem roared away from Farmington on his motorcycle. He headed for North Hollywood where he knew he could get the best burger ever put on a plate and a bottle of Heineken to wash down the one-pound burger with cheese, mushrooms and fried onions.  
  
And in the small but crowded burger joint, Lem finally found what he was looking for when the waitress set his food and a beer in front of him. He couldn't remember the last time food had tasted so good. He left the place much alter feeling full and satisfied and rejuvenated enough to face another day sludging through the shit world of the drug dealer.  
  
But his feeling was not to last long. Lem was climbing on his bike when he got a feeling. That weird feeling when the hair on the back of your neck stands up and you know instinctively someone's behind you. That "cop" instinct that makes you hit the ground seconds before your head becomes a target for a bullet.  
  
Lem rolled to the asphalt of the parking lot as the muffled "pffftttt" of a silenced bullet sliced though the air where he'd just been and slammed harmlessly into the cinderblock wall behind him. Lem had no time to think. He acted. He saw the gunman, just feet away and he charged like a bull. Before the big would-be killer got time for another shot, Lem tackled him like a linebacker. They rolled to the rough pavement, the gun flying from the assailant's hand.  
  
Lem sent a roundhouse punch into the larger man's face as he came out on top. Blood spurted from the guy's split open cheek.  
But before he had time to do further damage, Lem was grabbed by two sets of strong arms from behind. The two other men who grabbed him were as big or bigger then the one who'd tried to shoot him. He vaguely recognized one of them, a gorilla of a man who looked Cuban, but he couldn't think from where just then.  
  
Lem struggled against the two, elbowing and kicking as they dragged him off. Now the gunman was up, wiping his face, apparently incredibly pissed that Lem had slugged him.  
  
While the two behemoth's held the detective, the dark haired shooter worked him over with fists that felt like they were lined with iron.  
  
Once he though Lem's gut had taken enough abuse, he let loose a powerful right cross that took Lem squarely in the jaw. Already feeling battered from the series of jabs to his middle, the head snapping punch sent him reeling. The two other thugs let go of him and the momentum carried him with a bone-jarring thud to the pavement. All three giants now took a turn planting one of their large shoes in different sections of Lem's body.  
  
Although he was overcome with pain, he wasn't sure exactly where each kick landed because his nervous system so overloaded was causing his body to shut down individual pain sensors. He remembered the one he'd punched laughed over him as he landed a sharp kick to Lem's back, just behind his head. And that was when the lights went out for Lemanski.  
  
********************************************************  
  
Shane went to work in the morning with a lighter step and a certainly more jovial mood. Although she'd been gone when he woke up, Gina had certainly lit his fire. He might even call her again. Maybe she wouldn't just be a one-night stand after all.  
  
Vic was in his usual mood when Shane got to the clubhouse.  
  
"'Bout time. It sure would be nice if my team could at least make it to work on time," he grumbled. Shane noticed Lem was missing still.  
  
Shane shrugged off Vic's slight, and tossed his jacket onto the couch. "What's up for the day?" he asked.  
  
"We're still on Antwon Jones. He's got to turn up sometime and when he does, I'm going to be there."  
  
Vic snapped his weapon into it's holster. He glanced around. "And where the hell is Lem?"  
  
Ronnie shrugged. "I called his place. No answer. I paged him, but he hasn't called in."  
  
"All right, we'll swing by his place on the way. I want to hit Jones' chick's place again. She knows where he is. I think we just need to ask her again more politely," he said with dry sarcasm.  
  
It was when the three Strike team members got to the parking lot that the day broke loose and the shit began to hit the fan.  
  
Two uniformed officers, coming in from their graveyard shift, stopped Vic. "Hey, are you going to see Lemanski?"  
  
Vic nodded, though a bit confused.  
  
"Tell him to hang tough. We'll get the bastard."  
  
"Whoa, whoa. What are you talking about??"  
  
The officers looked at one another. "They didn't call you last night?"  
  
"No one called me," Vic said, beginning to get perturbed. "Where the hell is Lem?"  
  
"At Westside Memorial. He got the shit beat out of him last night."  
  
"What?!"  
  
The officer shrugged. "I thought you knew. The Sheriff's department took the call. We heard it on the air."  
  
Vic took off at a trot for the Durango. Ronnie and Shane followed.  
  
Once inside and when Vic was driving well beyond the posted street speed, Shane looked at Vic.  
  
"You think this has something to do with Jones?"  
  
"I'm positive it does."  
  
At the hospital, they were directed to Curtis Lemanski's room.  
  
Lem looked like hell, but was more pissed than damaged.  
  
"What the hell happened?" Vic asked, after making sure his teammate was going to be okay.  
  
"I went out to get some dinner," Lem explained. "Three guys jumped me in the parking lot. Everything's pretty fuzzy after that, except that I woke up in here and someone took my pants."  
  
"You think they were Jones' boys?"  
  
"No doubt," Lem confirmed. "I recognized one of them from the shipping office. The Cuban."  
  
Vic vividly recalled the three large thugs Jones had as bodyguards.  
  
"Lets go shake the trees until some assholes fall out," Shane said.  
  
Lem struggled to get out of the bed. "I'm outta here. Even if I have to go in my shorts and this stupid hospital dress."  
  
Vic laid a hand on Lem's shoulder. "Look, Ronnie can go to your place and pick up some clothes. I don't want you on the street today."  
  
"Aw Vic, I'm okay. Just a bump on the head. "  
  
"A bump? It looks like you took a whole lot of bumps. Just chill, okay? Ronnie can take you home, relax. Tomorrow, if we haven't got these bitches rounded up, you'll ride with us."  
  
Lem sighed resignedly and lay back against the bed. His head was throbbing and his shoulder still wasn't operating right.  
  
"Yeah, I guess."  
  
So that was settled. And then two officers from the Sheriff's Department walked in.  
  
"Shane Vendrell?" one of them asked.  
  
Shane nodded.  
  
"We need you to come with us for questioning."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Vic Mackey, head of the Strike Team, Farmington," Vic told one of the officers. "What'da you need my guy for?"  
  
"He's wanted for questioning."  
  
"Questioning about what?" Vic pushed, a little more forceful.  
  
"In the rape of a Gina Lee Dillon."  
  
*****************************************  
  
Shane paced the small office he'd been put into. Vic had insisted on accompanying him. He sat on the edge of someone's desk.  
  
"So what's the story?" he asked.  
  
Shane shrugged. "Just what I told those two goons. I met this chick at a bar, we had dinner, she threw me some 'come fuck me' looks, she asked me to take her home, had some story about her roommate, so we went to my place. Yeah, we had sex. But I didn't rape her. She was gone when I woke up."  
  
Vic shook his head. "I don't like it. It smells like a set up."  
  
"I should'a known. She was too damn perfect. Too easy to like. The clues were there, I was just too ."  
  
"Horney?" Vic cut in.  
  
Shane shot him a sour look. "Caught up in her game to notice. She said she'd just come from work, a legal secretary. But she was wearing jeans. She said she was from Alabama, but the accent was too weak, like she'd been watching too many bad accents on TV."  
  
"It was planned from the beginning."  
  
"Jones?" Shane asked.  
  
Vic nodded. "He's got a lot of money to throw around. He obviously wants my team out of the way. Look, we'll track this to him. But we have to make sure you don't get charges, or you'll be out of the way for awhile." He rubbed his head, trying to think. "Look, you had sex with her. Would she have any marks on her? Bruises?"  
  
Shane shook his head. "No way."  
  
"What about protection? Tell me you used a rubber?"  
  
"Jesus Vic, I just met the girl. Of course I did."  
  
Vic's eyes lit up. "Okay, now think: did you toss it or flush? Please tell me you flushed?"  
  
"You think she'd go through the trash?"  
  
"For viable DNA to make a case? Hell yeah."  
  
Shane shrugged. "I don't remember."  
  
Vic let out a frustrated breath. "Look, without any physical evidence, there won't be enough to hold you. You're whole story is riding on a goddamn Trojan."  
  
At that point, the Sheriff's Department investigator Jack Thurman came in. He shook hands with both Vic and Shane. Than he sat down to take Shane's statement. After Shane told him the same thing he'd told Vic, Thurman pulled out some Polaroid's. He laid them on the desk.  
  
It was Gina, but nothing like Shane had last seen her. Her left eye was blackened and the whole left side of her face was discolored. The other pictures were of specific areas: bruising on both wrists and the insides on her thighs.  
  
"Holy shit," Shane said.  
  
"So you're saying she didn't have any injuries when she left you house?"  
  
Shane shook his head. "No. Not a mark on her."  
  
"What about the rape kit?" Vic persisted.  
  
Thurman nodded. "They're processing it now."  
  
To Shane "Look, I'm gonna go check on Lem. I'll be back in a few." In reality, Vic walked outside the station and called Ronnie.  
  
He gave a brief overview of the situation. Ronnie had taken Lem home from the hospital and was now back at the barn.  
  
"I need you to get into financial records for this girl," Vic told Ronnie. "Can you do that?"  
  
"Sure with enough info."  
  
Vic unfolded the paper he'd lifted from Thurman's file that contained the woman's name, address, and copy of her driver's license. He read off the information Ronnie needed.  
  
"Okay boss. I'm on it."  
  
"Find out if she's made any big deposits. I'm thinking she wouldn't let someone beat the shit out of her without some serious green to go with it."  
  
"Got it." Ronnie would get into the DMV computer and gradually track the woman's bank account, then get into the bank's computers and check her accounts. It was not easy, but for a skilled hacker with access to a police computer, it was possible.  
  
*************************************  
  
It was another hour before Thurman came back to Shane and Vic with news.  
  
"Well, the rape kit produced no semen, but she did have skin under her nails. If you don't have any scratches to match, you can go for now."  
  
Shane was less than thrilled to be subjected to a strip search, but knew he had no marks and that they'd be forced to let him go due to lack of evidence. So after Thurman finished the search and the statement, he cut Shane loose.  
  
**************************************************************** ***********************************************************************  
  
Captain David Aceveda was anything but thrilled when he got a call from the North Hollywood Sheriff's department regarding not one, but two of the Farmington Division detectives.  
  
The C.O. over there gave him a courtesy call just after noon, letting him know, if he didn't' already, that Vendrell had been brought in for questioning and as an "oh by the way", hope the other guy who was attacked last night (Lemanski, when Aceveda had to ask) was doing better. Aceveda smelled a rat, not only in his division (where he knew good and well there were several) but at the SO as well. The commanding officer had entirely too good of a time telling Aceveda about the two Farmington officers. At that point David figured the press would be calling next.  
  
He hung up the phone, ready to wrap his hands around Mackey's throat if he could stand to get that close. He knew Mackey had purposely kept all this from him.  
  
He left his office, leaving an almost visible trail of smoke. He headed for the Strike Team office and entered without knocking. He was rewarded with an empty room. He stormed through the barn, finally finding Gardocki at a back desk using the computer.  
  
"Where's Mackey?" the angry Captain demanded.  
  
Ronnie looked up. He shrugged. "They're out shaking down Antwon Jones' people." He knew the Captain knew of the high profile drug lord case they'd been working.  
  
"Bullshit," Aceveda said, turning on his heel.  
  
Ronnie waited until the other man was back in his office, then dialed Vic's cell phone.  
  
Vic, who was at that moment just leaving the Sheriffs office with Shane, answered.  
  
"Trouble boss," Ronnie answered.  
  
"I don't think I can handle any more for one day. What's up?"  
  
"Captain's after you fierce. I think he knows something's up. I told him you guys were out beating the bushes for Jones."  
  
"Damn. About the only thing that's gonna save our asses is if we get Jones. Now. You got anything more?"  
  
"I've gone through every one of his holdings with a fine tooth. You've checked the record studio, the lover, the yacht, and the nightclub. I can't dig him up. Oh, he did withdraw five grand last night from a branch of his bank."  
  
"Where at?"  
  
"North Hollywood."  
  
"And where did that fake rape chick deposit hers?"  
  
"First National, North Hollywood. This girl has a rap sheet as long as my arm. Mostly white collar, fraud, and scams. She's a pro. And she made two deposits. One for five grand into her account last week. She opened another account, but at the same bank. Not smart. In that account, she deposited another five grand this a.m. Nine oh two."  
  
"Yeah, right before she went to the ER," Vic noted. "But she screwed up this time. One, she didn't like getting used as a punching bag and she scratched the guy. And two," he clapped Shane on the back as they walked. "My boy's a flusher."  
  
"Okay, me and Shane are gonna check out the con girl's address, see if she hasn't split the scene yet. You got anything on the big Cuban who tore Lem up with his buddies?"  
  
"Yeah. One of Jones bodyguards. Carmelo Melendez. He's got a sheet. Mostly assault and battery."  
  
"You got an address?"  
  
Ronnie read it to Vic.  
  
"We might have to pay Mr Melonhead a visit too."  
  
*********************************************************************  
  
Vic knocked on the apartment door of Gina Lee Dillon. Shane stayed off to the side so she wouldn't see him if she looked out the peephole.  
  
"Yeah?" he heard a woman's voice from inside inquire. It had a rough edge, nothing like the Southern Belle she'd portrayed for Shane last night. A Shikira song played on the radio inside.  
  
"Ms Dillon, I'm with the Sheriff's Office. I need to get some more information." He flashed his badge to the eyehole much too quickly for anyone to identify weather it was LAPD or LASO.  
  
"Jesus," she muttered as she took off the chain. "I sure wish you people could get all the information at one time." She opened the door and Vic pushed his way inside.  
  
"Hey!" she started to protest the rude entry then Shane followed Vic inside  
  
"What the-?"  
  
"Yeah, lot of people need to get their story straight around here," Shane added dryly, closing the door.  
  
"You people need to leave," she demanded.  
  
"Not till we get some info. You picked the wrong mark this time, babe," Vic said, taking the girl's arm and leading her to a chair.  
  
Gina looked nothing like she had yesterday, today in a tank top and shorts, the bruising on her face rather purple and her hair pulled back. She looked like what she was-a beat up con.  
  
"I don't know what the hell you think you're doing here," she said, sitting with her arms crossed, pouting.  
  
"I'm gonna find out why you took my guy for a ride last night for ten g's paid to you by Antwon Jones," Vic said, leaning in.  
  
"I don't know a Jones," she said, looking away from Vic's foreboding face.  
  
"Look you little bitch-" Shane started.  
  
Vic held up a hand. "It don't do any good denying it. We've got you're bank account statements. We matched up your deposits to Jones withdrawals. We all know whoever knocked the shit out of you is wearing your nail marks on 'em and we all know it ain't Shane here."  
  
Gina chewed on her lip. She knew she'd been made.  
  
"Look, no one told me he was a cop. By the time I found out, it was too late. I was already in. I'm not that stupid"  
  
"Apparently you are," Vic said sitting on the arm of her couch.  
  
"You weren't that good either," Shane added.  
  
Vic shot him a look.  
  
"Look, do you want something or did you just come here to toss out insults?" she asked tersely.  
  
"You're gonna give us Jones."  
  
" I don't know anything about him. He paid me, that's it. Gave me some information, obviously not enough."  
  
"Where'd the money exchange go down?"  
  
"The first time on his boat. Then this morning at a bakery."  
  
"Bakery where?"  
  
"On Vine and 45th."  
  
"Who put marks on you? They damn sure didn't do that at a bakery."  
  
"Upstairs. I guess one of his boys' lives above the place or something. The sonofabitch," she muttered. "I told him not to mess me up too bad. I gotta work, you know?"  
  
"Yeah, must be a bitch tryin' to give a blow job with a split lip," Shane put in.  
  
"Who was the guy?" Vic persisted; ignoring Shane's jabs to the woman he was obviously still pissed at.  
  
"How the fuck do I know? Some big Cuban guy."  
  
"You scratched him?"  
  
She shrugged. "Yeah I guess. I didn't even realize it until they pulled the skin out from under my nails. I knew this idiot," she gestured at Shane. "Would walk right then."  
  
"I've had about enough of her mouth-""  
  
"You sure didn't say that last night!"  
  
"Okay, okay," Vic interceded, holding Shane off. He pulled out the scrap of paper he'd written the address on that Ronnie had given him. He read it to Gina. "Is that the place?"  
  
She nodded. "If you're done, I got things to do."  
  
She stood up, just in time for Vic to quick snap a handcuff around her wrist.  
  
"What the fuck--?"  
  
"You think we're just gonna let you go? I don't think so babe," Vic pulled her over to the radiator. "Thank God for steam heat." He snapped on the other cuff to the radiator pipe. There was no getting out of that one unless she had a pipe wrench on her.  
  
Vic called dispatch on the phone and told them to send a unit to pick her up. "Charge her with filing a false report for one thing. Then see what else pops up on the computer when you run her through."  
  
************************************************************  
  
Ronnie met up with Vic and Shane at the bakery address.  
  
"This didn't pop out on Jones' holdings," Ronnie said, irriatated that his computer skills hadn't found this.  
  
"Probably under another name, could be anything," Vic said with a shrug.  
  
"So are we moving on this guy or what?" Shane was ready for a fight.  
  
Vic checked the clip on his weapon. Then he shrugged into a vest. Shane and Ronnie did the same.  
  
"Call for back up, full code," Vic told Ronnie. "Then hit the back." Ronnie loaded the shotgun.  
  
Vic and Shane went through the front doors. There were no customers in the place. Only one of Jone's bodyguards was downstairs, reading a paper behind the counter. The only thing he saw were the two weapons pointed in his face when he looked up.  
  
Vic put a finger to his lips, gesturing to the guy not to make any noise.  
  
Shane quickly removed the big paid muscle's .44 from under his sport coat.  
  
Vic motioned the guy to walk in front of them up the stairs. The thug complied; having Shane's pistol pressed into his kidney gave him a little incentive.  
  
They came to a door.  
  
"Get Jones to come to the door," Vic whispered, close to the thug's ear.  
  
The guy knocked. "Hey boss. We got a problem down here."  
  
Vic and Shane moved to either said of the door, Shane's weapon still trained on the thug. Vic's toward the door.  
  
The door opened. It was Jones.  
  
"Can't you handle-" he began.  
  
Shane pushed the bodyguard into Jones, causing them both to stumble back into the room. Vic went low, Shane high as they entered.  
  
The Cuban had been sitting at a card table when the other guard and Jones came flying into the room, landing in a heap. He stood up, table flying forward and chair skidding backward. His weapon was in his hand, but he didn't even fire, instead he broke for the back room.  
  
"LAPD!" Vic shouted. He then fired a round, which fell short, shattering the doorframe to the far room.  
  
They heard glass shattering and knew the Cuban had gone out the window. Vic and Shane quickly disarmed and shackled Jones and his hired help.  
  
"You sure have been a slippery little bastard," Vic told Jones, who sneered at him.  
  
They could hear the sirens of the street units outside.  
  
Vic now went to the back room, making sure it was empty before entering. He glanced out the window. Sure enough, the Cuban had smashed out the window and gone down the fire escape.  
  
Ronnie Gardocki had been waiting out back, concealed in the doorway of the bakery. He didn't know which way someone would try to come out, or if they would, but he could get them either way they came, from the bakery back door of from the fire escape from the apartment above.  
  
He heard the sound of the glass break overhead. He hung in the doorway tensely, shotgun ready.  
  
The large form of a man barreled down the metal stairs, making a lot of noise. He jumped down the last five stairs, hitting the ground hard.  
  
Ronnie stepped out of the doorway, shotgun trained on the guy.  
  
"Drop it!" he commanded.  
  
The Cuban, taken off guard and still a little off balance from the jump, knew he had no course of action. If he didn't drop his weapon, this cop would blow his head of with that formidable looking shotgun.  
He let the gun slip from his fingers.  
  
*****************************************************  
  
Danny Sofer and Julien Lowe, one of the first units on scene, took the Cuban into custody. Another unit took Jones and a third took his other bodyguard.  
  
"Nice job," Danny complimented Vic, Ronnie and Shane as she oversaw Julien putting the felon into the back of the car.  
  
"No sweat," Vic said. "Look, we'll catch up at the barn to push the paper on these guys."  
  
Danny nodded.  
  
Vic and his team made their way back to the Durango. Inside a grin spread over his face. Shane sat down the ammo bag he'd had the forethought to carry inside.  
  
Vic opened it up. Inside, was Jones' private holding that he'd had with him.  
  
"I knew he'd never leave home without a little spare cash," Vic said, staring at the money.  
  
"Better than fuckin' American Express," Shane said with a grin.  
  
"Let's get this over into the retirement fund, then go put Antwerp Jones back in his monkey cage."  
  
********************************************************  
  
Aceveda had to nearly bite off his tongue. There wasn't a thing he could do. The Strike Team had brought in Jones, the high profile drug lord that was in all the papers. He couldn't say "boo" to Mackey or Vendrell because of the high profile bust. That and the fact they'd also booked the girl who'd accused Shane on fraud and bunko charges. Again, he'd thought he had something to sink his teeth into and Mackey had managed to pull it right out from in front of him with a jaw jarring speed.  
  
The fact that one of their team members had been injured and then they'd busted the guys responsible the next day made them look even more like heroes.  
  
David decided to leave for the day before Mackey showed up with some sarcastic banter to tout his triumph.  
  
Maybe tomorrow.wishful thinking, David though, sighing as he walked out of the office. 


End file.
